And another:

Title: Piety
Author: Raget Nimds (cybele)
Rated: R, for twistedness
Pairing: HP/SS (pre-slash), HP/BZ (implied)
Disclaimer: I like playing with other people's toys. Sue me.
Summary: Snape gives Harry a strange order.

Warning for twistedness.



"Mr Potter, are you familiar at all with Muggle religious practices?"

Harry looked up from the scarabs he’d been crushing. Not only was the question unexpected, but that Snape was talking to him at all was enough to make Harry’s mouth drop open stupidly. In the five years that Harry had been at Hogwarts, he had never heard the man say anything to him that was not intended to accuse him or to reduce him to a humiliated blushing fool. Harry cleared his throat and searched through his surprise for the echo of the strange question. Muggle religious practices.

"You mean, like, church."

Snape smiled that smile which said, ‘Bravo, you foolish twit. I’m quite pleased to see that you’ve added English to that pathetically short list of things which you have mastered.’

"Yes, Mr Potter. Precisely *like church*. Your relatives, do they attend church?"

Harry furrowed his brow. The Dursleys attended church like all other proper English families. They would dress in their Sunday best, washed and pressed, and would pile in their newly cleaned car to go impress the other parishioners with their obvious wealth and happiness. But they’d never taken him along. Not that he minded.

"Yes, sir."

Snape stood from behind his desk and walked around to glare at Harry’s work. Harry began again, crushing the little bugs into a fine powder which would be added to the potions store. He gripped the pestle tightly to keep his hands from trembling.

"There’s a prayer, isn’t there? The Lord’s Prayer, it’s called, if I’m not mistaken."

Harry looked up again. This was the strangest conversation he’d ever had with the man. This was the only conversation he’d ever had with the man. Normally their exchanges were quite one sided and Harry’s input was discouraged. Harry appreciated the novelty.

"Yes, sir."

"Do you know it?"

Did he know it? Yes. The countless times his Aunt Petunia made him recite it to exorcise him of his weirdness had carved the words into his brain. He knew it as well as he knew his own name. "Yes, sir," he said, a little too softly.

"Recite it."

"Sir?" Harry stared up at the man with a truly confounded expression.

"I told you to recite it."

Harry set aside his pestle and took a deep breath. His eyes lowered in a practised humility as the words sprang to his lips. "Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in Heaven. Give us this day--"

"Stop."

Harry looked up to see an expression he’d never seen before on the Potions master’s face. He couldn’t quite put his finger on what had changed exactly, except that the gaze seemed somehow blacker than black and those lips were not pulled quite as taut as they normally were when Snape was looking at Harry.

Snape waved his hand and the door shut with a bang. Harry started and looked back before gawking up again at the Professor. His heart pounded in his ears and he wondered if Snape could hear it too. His entire body began trembling under the searching weight of those eyes.

Snape leaned on the table in front of Harry, bending his head down so that it was inches from Harry’s upturned face. "I’d like to see it done properly, Potter."

"Why?" The word escaped before Harry could stop it and hung in the air between the two.

"Do you permit yourself to question my authority? Why? Because I ordered you to do so." Snape’s voice raised just enough to echo through the room, making him sound even more ominous than usual. Harry stood warily, eyes locked on the man’s face. He lowered himself to his knees, resting his elbows on the bench. His nose touched his fingertips which were pressed together in a gesture of prayer.

"Our Father," he began with a sulky voice. Why was Snape making him do this? The stone floor pressed painfully into his kneecaps, reminding him of the times he spent in this room when the Potions master wasn’t here. The grinding pain stirred his arousal. Harry’s mind trailed to his secret lover who had taken Harry for the first time only a few months ago. If Harry strained his ears he could almost hear his own cries reverberating within these very walls.

Harry tensed as he felt the fingers brush through his hair almost reverently. He could feel the man’s presence behind him, feel those eyes boring into the top of his bowed head. He continued with the prayer. The words brushing his tongue tasted like sacrilege.

"Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from Evil. For thine is the power, the Kingdom and the Glory. Forever, Amen." Harry took a deep breath as he finished and then lowered his hands and raised his head. For a moment all he could do was to stare at the man towering above him as though he, himself, were the subject of that thoughtless prayer. Harry caught his breath and made to stand, when he was stopped by the hand on his head.

"Do you believe your Muggle god hears your prayers?"

"I--" Harry began. What a strange question. Of all the conversations to have with his Potions master, a theological one seemed the least likely. "No, sir," Harry said. His statement sounded more like a question.

Harry pulled his head away from that hand and stood quickly. There was something about the situation that didn’t feel right. It might have been his painfully hard cock straining against his suddenly too tight jeans. Harry seated himself on the bench again and began pounding out his frustration. He could still feel the man’s eyes on him and he used every ounce of his will not to look up.

His mind wandered to his and Blaise’s last rendezvous in the Potions classroom. Blaise had put on his high neck dress robes and sneered down at Harry in the menacing manner of their Potions master. Harry hadn’t known what that sneer could do to him when there was a promise of amazing sex behind it. The encounter had awakened an awareness within Harry that Harry would have preferred stay dormant.

He found the greasy git sexy.

And now, in the classroom with the man, alone, playing what seemed to be some twisted game of wish fulfilment, Harry could hardly contain the expectant moans rising into his throat. He didn’t know what motivations Snape had for making Harry get on his knees, but Harry knew his own motivations for wanting to obey.

"Do my questions make you uncomfortable, Mr Potter?"

"Yes, sir." Harry damned his breathlessness but that voice entered him just then and choked whatever force Harry had for speaking.

"Honesty, Potter? Now that is a surprise. Would you like me to answer your question now?"

"Question, sir?" Harry’s mind raced to keep up with his professor’s.

"Yes, Potter. I believe you asked me why I asked you to perform this task." Snape’s top lip curled sadistically.

"I-I suppose so, sir." Harry continued pounding as though his very sanity depended upon that movement.

"Two nights ago I was in my chambers. And do you know what I heard, Mr Potter?"

Harry swallowed his fear. Two nights ago. That would have been his last encounter with Blaise. "No, sir." Harry bit his lip fearfully.

"I heard your prayers." There was a hint of sinister amusement in the man’s voice. He was enjoying this particular torture. "Oh god. Yes, god. Please god," Snape mocked. "I never knew you were so pious, Mr Potter."

Harry dropped the pestle and cradled his humiliated head in his hands. "Oh god," he whispered before he could stop himself.

Snape laughed. "Yes. Quite like that. Only with feeling."

"Sir...I can explain."

"Oh, I don’t believe an explanation is necessary. I rather got the picture." Harry could feel the man draw closer, feel Snape breathe against his ear. He tensed. "It’s an alarming picture, Mr Potter. But not unpleasant."

Harry turned his head to look at the man. His face was close enough that if Harry were to move a fraction of an inch he might be able to taste the malice on Snape’s lips.

"I wonder what it takes to make you pray."

The words assaulted Harry’s mouth in sweet puffs of breath. Harry’s lips parted, his tongue darting between them reflexively. Every part of his body cried out for him to close that distance between him and the man. Snape moved back before he could act on those demands.

"The next time you choose to use my dungeons as a church, Mr Potter, you might consider a little thing called a silencing charm. Because I will not be so merciful as to leave you to your worship." Snape walked back to his desk and sat down, turning his attention to the scrolls piled before him.

Harry stared a long moment and tried to recall what it was like to breathe normally.